The moon was nothing more than a pale, cold eye watching over the New York skyline when I finally slipped out from under the heavy silk sheets. Beside me, Silas was sound asleep, his breathing deep and steady. His arm was still draped across the pillow where my head had been moments ago, his fingers curled as if even in sleep, he was trying to hold onto me.
For a second, I stood there in the dark, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He looked so human like this, so vulnerable. But I knew the truth now. This man wasn't just my husband or the father of my child; he was the keeper of a tomb built on my parents' blood. Every "I love you" he had whispered felt like a layer of encryption, a beautiful lie designed to keep me from looking at the stains on his hands.
I moved through
